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For a moment, Bucky could only stare.
He honestly hadn’t expected Steve to come back. If Steve had a chance to live the life he lost, why wouldn’t he take it? Steve could go home, and Bucky could pretend to be happy for him. Even if it felt like losing a part of himself he’d just gotten back.
Bucky hardly thought he’d return at all, much less come back as the perfect image of the kid Bucky grew up with. A version of Steve from before the war, before the serum, before the fight that killed them both.
When Bucky blinked and Steve didn’t disappear, he thought he might cry.
Steve had lifted his hands in front of his face to examine them, expression full of astonishment and awe. “Steve?” Bucky whispered, managing to find his voice. It wasn’t really a question.
Meeting his eyes through the gaps between his fingers, Steve cracked the brightest grin Bucky had seen from him in years. “Hey, Buck,” he said, completely casual, like it hadn’t been eighty years since he’d looked like this. Like they could step back into their past selves without missing a beat.
Bucky smiled, responding the only way he knew how: “Hey, pal.” Like nothing had changed at all. The two of them were constants in this ever-changing world, never folding, never breaking. No matter how much Steve and Bucky changed, they always fit with each other, like two halves of a whole.
Steve descended the platform a bit cautiously, no doubt afraid he wouldn’t remember how to walk on these legs. Bucky met him halfway, his smile breaking into a grin as he gripped Steve’s shoulders. Steve laughed and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe this was real.
When Bucky pulled Steve into a hug, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, and it felt like coming home.